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COEHRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



HILLTOP VIEWS 



By 

LISTON HOUSTON PEARCE 




THE METHODIST BOOK CONCERN 
NEW YORK CINCINNATI 






Copyright, 1922, by 
LISTON HOUSTON PEARCE 



Printed in the United Statea of America 

m\l U'22 

©C1A690157 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 5 

An Appreciation 9 

A Foreword 11 

A Shipwreck 15 

Personality in the Pulpit 20 

A Strange Loss of Memory 24 

The Game of Teeter-Totter 27 

The Great Baltimore Fire 30 

Adventures in Amity 36 

Hospital Adventures 43 

A Day With My Birds 50 

My Lady Humming-Bird 55 

A Midnight Baptism 60 

A Guerilla Tragedy 63 

A Weird Night - 67 

Tom Odley 71 

Bedouin Robbers 76 

The Pity of It 81 

Caught in the Act 83 

The Grand Canon of Arizona 85 

Along the Danube 92 

Gone, But Not Lost 95 

Senatorial Fisticuffs 100 

A Storm on Galilee 104 

A PosTwoRD — ^Love Dreams Among the 

Eighties 108 



INTRODUCTION 

GROWING old beautifully, like apples 
becoming more beautiful as they ripen 
and taking on the colors and luscious 
flavor that sun and rain impart and which make 
the fruit fit for the Master's use — such has been 
and is the type of old age that finds outlet for 
thoughts and memories and dreams in this book. 

An editor by profession and taste, a lifelong 
familiarity with literature, a facile pen that 
readily served the fertile imagination of an 
accomplished limner, a gentleness of spirit that 
won and held in lasting grip the hearts of a 
multitude of friends, a traveler in far foreign 
lands, a preacher of eloquence was the man 
whose heart and soul find expression in these 
reminiscences. 

Dr. Pearce was for several years the editor of 
the Baltimore Methodist, later for many more of 
the Northern Christian Advocate, at Syracuse, 
and for one session editor of the General Con- 
ference Daily Christian Advocate, at Baltimore. 
He is the author of a book of travel which sets 
forth with interesting style and vivid clearness 

5 



6 HILLTOP VIEWS 

his journeys in the East, to which experiences 
he briefly refers in these pages. 

For the fellowship and sympathetic converse 
the years we spent together in the genial climate 
of Florida were notable. When the kind-hearted, 
gracious old man reached the time when feeble- 
ness of body put a stop to his annual migrations 
in the effort to escape the boisterous attentions 
of Jack Frost, I never ceased to sadly miss the 
companionship of my chum. In vivid memory 
of the heart-to-heart conversations over our 
breakfast and tea table, I seemed to call back 
my gentle friend to his old room which I occu- 
pied after he ceased to do so. I could only par- 
tially make up for the loss of his presence by 
frequent correspondence. 

He refers to what we playfully called my 
Dream House and to his Dream Book, both 
now happily materialized. The book speaks for 
itself and is before the reader, but between the 
lines his old friends will note the phantom 
words and voices that are sweet to the memory 
and expressive of an affection that will never 
die. 

If the four score years be "labor and sorrow," 
as the wise man saith, nevertheless my dear 
friend Liston H. Pearce knew how to mingle 



INTRODUCTION 7 

sunshine and good fellowship with the pains 
and shadows that seem to be inevitable in old 
age. While abiding at this writing within the 
kindly shelter of the Hospital of the Good 
Shepherd, he will find in experience the truth 
that it is possible to make last days best days. 
Home or hospital may be to him and to me a 
true Beulah Land where weary pilgrims, within 
faith-view of the shining gates of The City, 
await the welcome call of the Master of life 
saying, "It is enough, come up higher." Then 
shall dreams of homes and books become 
fruitions in the land where "We shall see Him 
face to face." 

Carlton C. Wilbor. 
Elma, New York. 



AN APPRECIATION 

DOCTOR PEARCE is at home on the 
heights. Figuratively, he has spent 
much of his Hfe on Overlook Moun- 
tain, aspirant of high altitudes with their pure 
air, far horizons, and comprehensive views. 
Bishop Henry W. Warren had a similar am- 
bition to "put all things under his feet" — 
physically, mentally, spiritually. To excite my 
envy, he wrote me exultantly from the top of 
Pike's Peak, Colorado, and Popocatapetl, 
Mexico, and the Swiss Matterhorn, from which 
in 1873 he and I, half-way up, were driven 
back by a storm. From all those hilltops my 
comrade of many climbs and tramps teased me 
with "Don't you wish you were here?" 

In this book, written from life's Overlook, 
Dr. Pearce tells us what he has seen and sees 
from the hilltops of the world, from Morning 
Side Heights. He calls to us: "Come on up! 
The views are fine." So I have found them, 
looking through his clear, illumined eyes. I urge 
others to take a look through his binoculars, 
while I hear him saying, as Robert Browning 
to his Elizabeth, "Other heights in other lives, 
God willing." William V. Kelley. 

9 



A FOREWORD 

THE lure and fascination of an old man's 
life is reminiscence. That is the golden 
El Dorado in which he lives and through 
which he roams at will. It is the completed 
and unalterable realm of experience and realism 
that holds him with a resistless charm, whether 
it gladdens or saddens. This realm of per- 
sonal experience and historic reality is his 
inheritance and will either ever gladden him 
with great joy as he has lived nobly or forever 
sadden him as he has lived basely. 

If an old man chances to be keyed to the 
imaginative or spirituelle, he will likely often 
embellish the reminiscent life in which he now 
tarries for transportation, by dreaming dreams, 
weaving phantasms, picturing visionary scenes 
or, maybe, writing romances, or fairy stories. 
This is not the solid realism of reminiscence but 
the pure fiction of the imagination; but this is 
not the purpose of this "old fellow" as he puts 
forth this modest little book. 

Some fifteen years ago Ray Stannard Baker 
(whose pen name is "David Grayson") wrote a 

11 



12 HILLTOP VIEWS 

great book, Adventures in Contentment, a splen- 
did epic of simple life close to the bosom of 
Mother Nature. It caught the popular heart. 
(He has followed it by several other books of 
like spirit and high mission.) But it is a 
volume of imagination, save as the author 
weaves into it lessons, views, and incidents that 
have come to him through his own personal 
experience and observation. But the story he 
creates he tells so cleverly that his readers, by 
the thousand, surely believe that he is here 
relating faithfully the reminiscences of the life 
that he so felicitously describes, but never 
lived at all, except in thought. That for years 
he lived a quiet, care-free life in supreme con- 
tentment on a little farm is simply a splendid 
creation of his imagination. This unique and 
eminent writer has spent his mature life in the 
midst of the roar and conflict of great cities 
and the achievements of a strenuous career. 

Now, the reminiscence of an old man is 
history, not story; fact, not fiction; stereotyped 
copy, not copy that can be changed. The 
recording angel has it written in his changeless 
book of remembrance. 

It was several years ago that the writer of 
this Foreword reached the serene heights of the 



A FOREWORD IS 

eighties and retired from the ranks of the 
world workers and now has consented to sweep 
up some of the crumbs that chance to lie in the 
long and changeful way of his very ordinary 
life. His cheerful hope is that this little book 
of varied reminiscences may be so produced 
that it shall beguile the tedium of many an 
aged man or woman while waiting for the 
Pilot, afford diversion for the suffering shut-in, 
light reading for vacation hours, and make an 
attractive gift book for the holiday seasons. 

LisTON Houston Pearce. 
Syracuse, New York. 



A SHIPWRECK 

ABOUT sixty years ago there seemed to 
be a period of great disasters on Lake 
Michigan. On the shore of that splen- 
did lake, twelve miles from the center of 
Chicago, lay the classic little town of Evanston, 
where lifted the spreading walls of the North- 
western University and of the Garrett Biblical 
Institute. Here, one memorable night in 1860, 
when the wind blew strongly and the breakers 
rolled fearfully, four hundred excursionists, out 
from Chicago and bound for Milwaukee, on 
the steamer Lady Elgin, colliding with a 
schooner, were thrown into those angry waters 
near the coast at Evanston. What deeds of 
heroism and love the students there did that 
night in saving men, women, and children 
from the tempestuous surf has been celebrated 
in oratory, story, and song. 

But I am to tell you of the loss of the bark. 
Storm, off the same coast about the same time, 
when I was of the student body of the same 
college town. 

It was Tuesday, May 10, 1864. A steady, 
15 



16 HILLTOP VIEWS 

heavy wind had been blowing all night. On 
going to my breakfast I learned that a vessel 
was being driven toward the shore opposite 
the village. Without taking anything to eat 
I ran to the lake shore and saw a bark, loaded 
with lumber, with her masts down and floating 
at her sides, driven by the strong winds while 
the tempestuous surf waters frequently broke 
over her. She was near enough for us to see 
somewhat plainly ^ve men on her cabin deck. 
A number of other vessels were in sight, one of 
them flying a signal of distress. Crowds of 
people were gathering on the shore, the num- 
ber increasing for hours. The disabled boat 
continued to slowly drift at an oblique angle 
toward the shore. About nine o'clock one of 
the five men disappeared and the others 
signaled that he was dead. By and by, we 
missed two more, but after a time they ap- 
peared again, evidently having been down in 
the water-logged cabin to escape the furious 
winds. Finally, about twelve o'clock the vessel 
struck on a sandbar, two miles and a half from 
Evanston toward Chicago, and was held fast. 
She was yet too far oflF shore for us to speak to 
her even if there had been no roar of the waves 
and winds. We, therefore, procured a large. 



A SHIPWRECK 17 

long board and wrote on it in large, black 
letters: "Sent to Chicago for lifeboat." The 
men on the vessel would probably perish be- 
fore any boat could reach them from Chicago. 
Hundreds of people were now crowding the 
shore watching the vessel, but apparently 
helpless to save them. Some of the students 
used to these heavy surf waters (and many of 
them had wrought heroic wonders at the wreck 
of the Lady Elgin) thought of attempting to 
swim to this boat with a line. But old seamen 
in the crowd assured us that no man could 
survive such an attempt, with the water almost 
at freezing point and a furiously cold wind 
blowing. But one of our number, Joseph C. 
Hartzell, now Bishop HartzelL, bravely re- 
solved to make the venture and could not be 
dissuaded. Having procured a rope and fasten- 
ing one end of it to his body, he with some of 
his mates went several rods up the lake so as 
to get the advantage in a battle out to sea 
before he should come abreast of the stranded 
bark, he started in. I followed him part way out 
with my hand on the line as it was played out 
from the shore so as to save Hartzell as much 
as possible from being drawn down or back by 
the heavy sag of the rope and the pull of the 



18 HILLTOP VIEWS 

breakers on it. My part was comparatively 
easy and without any special danger. I planted 
my feet the best I could in the sand and allowed 
the breakers to roll over me as I struggled to 
hold the rope in place. Hartzell rose on the 
billows or dove under them and by desperate 
efforts kept swimming out. As he approached 
the vessel there was imminent danger that he 
would be dashed to death against the masts 
that were floating at her side and pounding 
upon her, or drawn under her. He succeeded 
in seizing hold of a spar and by throwing his 
legs and arms about it, he slowly worked his 
way toward the boat, but this was a desperate 
experience, for with every roll of the sea the 
spar went perhaps a dozen feet beneath the 
water, carrying Hartzell with it. With every 
such roll we thought he was lost, but every 
time he came up, clinging to the mast, still 
clinging as he went a dozen feet into the air. 
Thus, almost inch by inch, he crept on till he 
reached the side of the vessel, where he seized 
dangling ropes by which the crew succeeded in 
bringing him to the reeling deck, carrying the 
line on his body. A wild applause by the crowd 
on the shore rang out on the air when the 
daring feat was achieved. 



A SHIPWRECK 19 

Hartzell drew in the rope that was tied to 
the lighter line that he carried out and made it 
fast to the railing of the cabin next the shore. 
One after another of the crew slid down the 
rope hand over hand into the tossing waters, 
and holding to it, worked his way toward the 
shore. Each one of the crew on reaching the 
point where I held the rope well out from the 
shore, fell like a dead man and was carried by 
willing hands of those who rushed into the 
waters. Hartzell had refused to start back 
from the vessel till the imperiled men had left 
the wreck. When he finally reached us, he too, 
like the others, now that the strain of the 
effort was over, collapsed and would have 
fallen to the bottom but for the hands that 
seized him as the people shouted: "Save 
Hartzell! Save Hartzell!" and bore him to the 
shore. When they put him down on the shore, 
more than a thousand voices rent the air with 
loud huzzahs for the young man who had so 
heroically risked his life for others. 

What he did so bravely that wild day of 
storm he has as gloriously done for saving the 
dark continent of Africa. 



PERSONALITY IN THE PULPIT 

SOME ministers use personalities in the 
pulpit. It is execrable taste, always 
cowardly and sometimes dangerous. To 
single out from the pulpit individuals in the 
congregation or community and criticize them 
or hold up their misdoings so that they or those 
present know to whom personal reference is 
made is seldom even excusable. If the writer 
ever did that, he was cured of it by an incident 
in which he innocently transgressed. 

It was a long time ago, I should say thirty- 
five years ago, but the event seems as vivid, 
now that I am in a reminiscent mood, as 
though it had been only yesterday. I was 
having a few weeks of delicious vacation in a 
quiet part of southern Tennessee. To the south 
were the mountains of northern Georgia and 
to the north a stretch of three miles of un- 
broken woods. I was busy with some tinkering 
which I was doing in a little forsaken shanty by 
the road. By and by the wonted stillness of 
the place was broken by the faint sound of un- 
earthly hallooing and profanity in the woods. 
20 



PERSONALITY IN THE PULPIT 21 

The sound continued to grow nearer and louder 
till I saw two half-drunken men emerge from 
the big woods along the road carrying carpet- 
bags. They apparently were tramps wild with 
apple jack whisky. I noted that one had very 
black hair and the other was red-headed. 
When they had passed without entering the 
lone farmhouse where the family of the actor 
in this story was staying, I resumed work in 
the shanty, reflecting upon the wickedness of 
men in general and these two tramps in par- 
ticular. The next morning I drove several 
miles away to preach at a country church for 
the circuit preacher. For company I took with 
me a little girl who is now the wife of a well- 
known pastor in the North. In the course of 
the sermon I had occasion to contrast the op- 
posite extremities to which men and women 
come in this life. For the first illustration I 
cited the case of a lovely woman in Baltimore 
whose life was beautiful in deeds of charity and 
love; for the second, I spoke of the two drunken 
tramps who came the day before through the 
woods. I was in the midst of a very powerful 
delineation of them and their vile conduct 
when I suddenly saw them sitting together in 
the very middle of the congregation, and they 



2^ HILLTOP VIEWS 

had recognized the portraiture and were in a 
state of agitation. The red-headed man en- 
joyed the situation immensely, for his face was 
wreathed in suppressed laughter; but the other 
man was alarmingly serious over the matter. 
His eyes flashed in anger, and it was easy for 
the man in the pulpit to imagine that this 
Southerner's hand was reaching for his hip 
pocket — for you must remember that it was 
Ku Klux times in the South and the preacher 
was a Northern Yankee. It was a critical mo- 
ment. The sudden recognition of the men and 
the dangerous look of one of them caused me 
to tone down the unfinished illustration. I 
said, after all they might not have been such 
bad men. We must not judge others, etc. 

The sermon concluded and the services 
ended, what must be done.'^ The two men — now 
evidently citizens of that neighborhood — had 
remained, perhaps for an interview. They 
simply stood up where they had been sitting 
and waited. Something heroic must be done; 
so, smiling as best I could, I shook hands with 
the people in the aisle till I reached the two 
men, and, entering the seat next to where they 
stood, I saw they did not extend their hands, 
as others of the people were doing; but I paid 



PERSONALITY IN THE PULPIT 23 

no attention to it and took their hands as they 
hung at their sides. The red-headed man con- 
tinued his tactics of laughing and the other 
looked dangerously like striking. Neither spoke 
a word, perhaps owing to the rattle of words 
from the alarmed preacher, who hastened out 
to his buggy with the little girl and made one 
of the quickest seven miles of his life, while 
looking back perhaps a hundred times every 
hundred yards or more. 

That experience cured this preacher of using 
personalities in the pulpit — and also made him 
a more cautious editor. 



A STRANGE LOSS OF MEMORY 

SOME time ago someone sent me a pic- 
ture of the old First Church at Battle 
Creek, Michigan. What memories that 
picture awakened! I was once a pastor there, 
and had the joy of receiving into the church 
during one winter's meeting two hundred mem- 
bers. Some scenes of that winter come back to 
me as vividly as though it were yesterday. How 
well I remember a certain Sunday night! A 
large audience had crowded to hear Mrs. Mary 
C. Nind, of saintly life, beautiful character, and 
tender heart. She had taken for her text, 
"What shall I do then with Jesus who is called 
Christ.'^" She had spoken ten minutes in her 
solemn and impressive way, and the audience 
was giving breathless attention, when someone 
in the hallway below cried, "Fire!" The entire 
audience arose instantly and started to move 
toward the broad, open stairways — perfect 
death traps in case of a panic. I saw the dread- 
ful peril. After that I remembered absolutely 
nothing till I became conscious that I was 
standing at the side of Mrs. Nind, speaking to 
24 



A STRANGE LOSS OF MEMORY 25 

the people. When the services ended I was 
amazed to be told that, at the cry of fire, I had 
sprung to the front of the platform and yelled 
and pounded and stamped like a madman, 
commanding the audience to halt and sit down, 
and finally succeeded. Then sending out the 
chief of the fire department, who was one of the 
ushers, to report the cause of the cry, I pro- 
ceeded to lecture the people about panics. I 
have never had the least memory of what 
transpired during the ten minutes of that in- 
tense excitement. During it all, Mrs. Nind 
stood calmly with her hand on the pulpit, and 
when it was over she resumed her sermon. 
Whether someone maliciously raised the cry of 
fire or only wanted to see the fun of the people 
rushing madly to a false alarm, no one seemed 
to know; but it is certain that a dreadful 
panic was only narrowly averted that mem- 
orable night, for, as it was, some of the excited 
folks reached the bottom of the stairs in their 
mad rush to get out. 

A similar mental phenomenon happened to 
me several years ago. I was in Los Angeles, 
California, and was taking a morning walk 
alone. I chanced to be looking with interest at 
a young girl, perhaps fourteen years of age, 



26 HILLTOP VIEWS 

who was riding her horse with much grace 
along the broad, quiet street. A carpenter, not 
far away, threw one plank upon another, mak- 
ing a report like that of a pistol, which caused 
the horse to spring wildly aside, throwing the 
girl over backward. That much I remember 
and nothing m.ore till I regained my senses and 
found I was holding the horse and questioning 
the girl about her injuries, if any. It seemed 
the girl held fast to the reins and fell in front 
of the horse and was in danger of being tram- 
pled to death, but strangely escaped being hurt. 
Thus, on these two occasions of interest, mem- 
ory seems to have made for me no record of 
what I said or did. Here is an interesting study 
in psychology. 



THE GAME OF TEETER-TOTTER 

ONE day a man whom I knew intimately 
wrote a letter to his absent wife which 
I chanced to read. As nearly as I can 
recall it ran thus: "Did you ever play teeter 
when you were a little girl? I am sure you did, 
and how I wish I had known you then and 
played that game with the sweet little girl that 
I am sure you were. Well, I have lots of fun 
these days playing teeter. One day I find my- 
self going down, down, down till I think I 
can't hold onto the plank any longer, but I 
just stick on and laugh. Then in a day or two 
I go up, up, up till I am up, way up into the 
sky of bright hopes and exultation; and, of 
course, then I am in high glee, but the first 
thing I know I am going down, down again, 
and I get splinters in my hands trying to hold 
on, and so the gay old game goes on and it is 
great fun. What jounces I get, but I won't get 
mad or jump off; if I did, that would stop the 
fun of life, and someone on the other end of 
the board might be badly hurt, and that might 
be you. So, sweetheart, I keep teetering away 

9n 



28 HILLTOP VIEWS 

and have a good time in the ups and downs — 
in the hard knocks and jolly jolts I get." 

Now, I like the philosophy and Christianity 
of that letter. It smacks of the true heroism of 
life. As we study this letter we see that there 
are two splendid lessons which it teaches. The 
first is that in the big teeter game of life the 
great thing is to hold on. No matter whether 
one is going up or down he should cling to the 
plank. If he is sweeping down, there is no tell- 
ing at what moment he may start up again. 
No matter how steep the plank is or how many 
splinters dig into his hands, the very best thing 
to do is to hold on. The men who hang on are 
the world's masters — not the men of big brains 
or of great gifts, or of splendid opportunities, or 
of hosts of friends; but the men who have the 
grit or the grace or the sense — or whatever it is 
— to hang on. It is Palissy, the potter, half 
starved, but throwing his last chair into the 
furnace; it is Columbus holding the prow of 
his vessel toward the West over a trackless, un- 
explored ocean while his men are on the verge 
of mutiny; it is Grant fighting it out on that 
line though it takes all summer; it is Peary re- 
turning again and again to his quest in Arctic 
frozen desolations with the lure of the pole in 



THE GAME OF TEETER-TOTTER ^9 

his blood for thirty years; indeed, it is every 
man who wins in his battle of life, in his little 
or great sphere. 

The second splendid lesson which my friend's 
love letter to his wife teaches is that in the 
teeter-totter of life one must throw himself into 
the big game joyfully. To do any other way is 
a large mistake. The game, of course, is a 
serious thing, but to play it with anything but 
good cheer and a glad voice makes one a 
nuisance to other folks and himself. To be in 
a constant giggle is, of course, brainless and 
silly, and a craze for sport is degrading — and 
there is a deal of it among people these days; 
but to be cheerful and carry a bright face and 
speak pleasant words is a beautiful and holy 
thing. Out on a man who is always serious or 
solemn or cross! There is almost no jolt of the 
teeter, no experience in life that justifies that. 
It is bad financially. We don't want to trade 
with a man who never smiles or who talks even 
on business matters mechanically and without 
affability. People like sunshine, and nothing 
works such wonders as does sunshine. It is 
Paul taking joyfully the spoiling of his goods 
and saying, "We are exceeding joyful in all our 
tribulations." 



THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 

RESURGAM 

By Ralph E. Pearce 

Baltimore, thou art desolate! 

Thy treasure scattered and thy walls o'er- 
thrown; 
Night broods upon thy ruins, 

Deeper night dwells in thy smoking palaces 
of stone. 

Yet, thou art rich; thy treasures lie 

Secure, unscorched by fire; thy sons are men, 

And underneath thy wide blue sky 
Thy former glories shall return. 

God of our Fathers, thou hast made 

Men greater than the things their hands 
have wrought; 

We call thee mighty, grant us aid 

To profit by the lessons thou hast taught. 

ONE of the most memorable events of my 
life was connected with the Baltimore 
fire of 1904. I had been elected editor 
of the Baltimore Methodist, and took charge of 
30 



THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 31 

the paper January 1, 1904. The seventh story 
of the splendid Law Building of the city was 
secured as new editorial rooms, and fitted up 
with great pleasure and high hopes. The fire 
came February 7, and left me almost broken- 
hearted, but not broken-spirited. Let me place 
here my reminiscence of those hours of trial in 
the form of my editorial written while the fire 
was still smoldering. 

"A most appalling scene spreads out before 
our eyes. The roaring, crackling conflagration 
that started Sunday noon, February 7, in the 
heart of the business section of the city, has 
swept on leaving in its wake widespread ruin 
and desolation, till now and at this writing, 
Monday night, the city is still burning. Before 
this slower going weekly reaches our readers, 
the fleetfooted dailies will have told the story 
of this measureless calamity. It has been a 
scene of indescribable grandeur and awfulness. 
In extent and cost it will probably exceed the 
Chicago fire of 1873. All the great newspaper 
buildings have perished. The most splendid 
business houses and blocks have been swept out 
of existence or remain only as blackened and 
tottering ruins. The magnificent structures in 
which the great banks and trust companies of 



32 HILLTOP VIEWS 

the city have kept their untold wealth have 
shared in this common ruin, as have the princi- 
pal warehouses and shipping docks, and count- 
less homes especially of the poorer people. 
How stubbornly the brave firemen of the city 
have worked with almost superhuman courage 
and endurance to stop the progress of the con- 
flagration; how the surrounding country and 
cities have sent instant help in engines, firemen, 
and policemen; how the burning and contigu- 
ous districts have been put under martial law, 
while the militia and regulars are on duty to 
protect the property and guard the lives of the 
citizens against the vast number of thieves and 
hoodlums who seem to have come from every 
whither; what great buildings are being blown 
up; how the drinking places have been tightly 
closed, and sobriety and order are maintained, 
though the streets are packed with people eager 
to witness the awful scenes — have not all these 
things and many others been told you by the 
dailies that you have eagerly sought and 
eagerly read? 

"Let us now talk a little of the outlook of 
the Baltimore Methodist. Well, our beautiful 
Law Building is gone, and with it the editorial 
apartments that with so much care, pride, and 



THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 33 

expense, we had fitted up, and about all the 
material possessions of the company — the ac- 
cumulations of twenty-five years — are in ashes. 
Our safe fell nine stories, and with scores of 
others lies in the hot embers, whether with 
contents intact we cannot tell. How long and 
hard we tried to save that building, and time 
and again we thought we had done it! The 
scene from the roof was simply sublime. The 
sparks fell like millions of burning meteors, and 
brands hissed through the air and bounded on 
the iron roofing. 

"Our building first caught about six o'clock 
and caught on our floor, it being the topmost. 
We entered the little room that seemed to be 
afire with a pail of water, but though the 
electric light was burning, we could not see one 
yard before us, so dense was the smoke. We 
vainly sought the fire till about suffocated, 
when we stumbled back, narrowly losing our 
way. By that time the assistant editor had 
secured the building hose from the roof, and, 
with a wet towel over his face, went into the 
room and stayed so long that we feared he had 
perished. At last the room was cleared of fire 
and smoke. We then addressed ourselves to 
carrying down some of our most valuable 



34 HILLTOP VIEWS 

things. The elevators could not be run till the 
very last, and to climb up and down the crowded 
stairways seven flights was next to impossible. 
Unable to get a wagon for love or money, we 
carried a few of our valuables a little distance 
out of the apparent track of the fire, and by 
and by moved part of them farther away, but 
went back to do what we could to save the 
building. The fight continued from the first 
catching at six o'clock till about 11 p. M., when 
in utter glee of victory the fire king shook his 
hands of flame from every window and shouted 
his exultant triumph with crackling voice from 
the lofty roof. We are cast down, but, thank 
God, not destroyed. Through the kindly offer 
of Dr. Tagg, editor of the Methodist Protestant, 
we have a place for the present in his finely 
fitted office, 316 North Charles Street. 

"Whether we are crippled beyond recovery 
cannot now be told. The paper in its new form 
had received so many hearty commendations, 
and the business outlook was so encouraging, 
that we were hopeful that this organ of the old, 
numerous, and influential Baltimore Conference 
would now take the rank and exert the influence 
expected of a paper of such a constituency. Our 
loss in the advertising department must be 



THE GREAT BALTIMORE FIRE 35 

serious, and in many other respects. The ex- 
pense of refitting an office after the late outlay 
we can hardly bear. The brethren who have 
stood so nobly back of the Methodist when it 
did not pay, and met the bills, are, some of 
them, if not all, heavy personal losers by the 
fire. ... It would mean great things to us to 
have a letter from each of you. Baltimore 
Methodism owes it to itself to meet this 
emergency." 



ADVENTURES IN AMITY 

THE most paradoxical thing of the Chris- 
tian centuries is the animosity that has 
existed between Christian bodies in the 
world. Proclaiming the sublime duty of love to 
each other, even love to one's enemies, writing 
upon the loftiest banners of Christian faith 
the words of Jesus Christ, "Thou shalt love 
thy neighbor as thyself," nevertheless. Chris- 
tian people, in stupendous numbers, as the 
centuries have rolled by have hated and de- 
spised and often drenched the earth with each 
other's blood. Even in this great day there are 
startling signs of religious animosity, which 
once aroused, would parallel the late World 
War in rancor and blood. It is surely not a time 
for recanting or surrendering our tenets of re- 
ligious faith, but it is a time for holding them 
in amity, and so trying to bring them into the 
court of reason and love, with justice in the 
throne. 

With this preliminary glance at a lamentable, 
if not perilous, situation, I submit these ad- 
36 



ADVENTURES IN AMITY 37 

ventures in amity by way of three reminis- 
cences. 

First, one Sunday morning, several years ago. 
Cardinal Gibbons was escorted by a cavalcade 
of horsemen in regal entourage to some high 
church service in an adjoining community. The 
periodical of which I chanced to be editor spoke 
somewhat critically of that event. To this the 
Catholic Mirror replied: "Can you say any 
good thing about the Catholic Church? If you 
can, we wish we knew what it is." To this, my 
paper replied: "Most cheerfully will we take 
up this challenge of the Mirror, and in no 
^negative fashion,' either. We shall name things 
which meet and merit our strong and positive 
approval. We shall do this ^ith the utmost 
sincerity and in words containing no trace of 
criticism, jealousy, or bigotry. If we should 
follow the list that we may name with the men- 
tion of other things in the Catholic Church that 
we cannot approve (which we probably shall 
not do), we should do so in language entirely 
devoid of bitterness and harshness. The times 
are too perilous and the enemies of our common 
Lord are too many and too dangerous for us to 
discuss our differences as variant Christian be- 
lievers in anything but dispassionate and 



38 HILLTOP VIEWS 

charitable words. Many sad and deplorable 
things have been said and done, especially in 
the heat of religious strife — said and done in 
the name of Protestantism as well as Catholi- 
cism — which caution us to tread softly and 
speak with the least possible censure when we 
talk of each other. Cardinal Gibbons well said 
in his Cathedral sermon last Sunday, *Censure 
is a common and cheap commodity.' " 

The following are some of the things in the 
Catholic Church which we discussed editorially, 
and approved without criticism and in the spirit 
of amity: The sanctity of the marriage cove- 
nant; the especial care of childhood in the 
church; the open house of prayer; and the 
sacredness of church buildings dedicated to 
worship. These brief editorials touching 
things we like received no little attention and 
strong commendation from Catholic and 
Protestant papers. For instance, the Catholic 
Mirror published the first^ article entire, call- 
ing it "a fair and square editorial by a 
Protestant contemporary." The Ave Maria 
repeated most of the same article, pronouncing 
its strong approval and high appreciation of 
the editors. 

Thus the first adventure registers the high 



ADVENTURES IN AMITY 39 

rank and glorious beauty of amity between 
Christian communions. 

Second: Some years later, when the writer 
was editor of the Northern Christian Advocate, 
a letter came to that paper speaking in very 
bitter words of an article that had there ap- 
peared. The first impulse was to answer it 
in the spirit in which it was sent. But a 
different course was taken. A personal letter 
was sent to this Catholic brother, saying 
that it would be better for us to discuss our 
differences in a calm and amicable spirit, 
without bitterness or rancor. He replied 
promptly that he too thought that would 
be the better way. 

The result was he came to the office, had 
a friendly meeting, and we mutually agreed 
that I should take up the discussion of ques- 
tions involved, and that he should give the 
Catholic view, while the editor should reply 
to each article as he should see fit, but 
neither of us should fail to use words of 
candor and amity. The discussion ran 
through several months of the paper, and, 
perhaps with one single exception, in every 
article we kept faith with each other in oiu* 
promise. 



40 HILLTOP VIEWS 

Here again the voice of amity pleads the 
right of way in the Church. 

Third: Austria held high rank as one of the 
great Catholic countries of the world till the 
all-grasping German Empire went down in the 
World War and carried Austria with it; not 
that church and state were united, for they 
were not, but because the people were over- 
whelmingly Catholic, and the splendor and af- 
fluence of the papal church were preeminently 
great. 

It was during this period of prosperity and 
power (1886) that I had several memorable 
days in the brilliant city of Vienna, and took 
great pleasure and paid most worshipful devo- 
tion in the Saint Stephen's Church in Vienna. 
I had gone on Sunday morning with friends to 
see the resplendent church and hear the wonder- 
ful music. After my friends had retired from 
the church I remained for two full hours in 
worship as sincere and spiritual as I ever paid 
at any Protestant shrine. I put aside all 
thought of any inharmony with, or opposition 
to, or criticism of the people in whose splendid 
temple I worshiped the great name of my 
Divine Master and theirs. The glorious singing 
that voiced the joy and praise of the infinite 



ADVENTURES IN AMITY 41 

God was so tender and sweet that it touched 
my heart, and often during those two hours I 
found my eyes filled with tears of joy and glad- 
ness. Had I known the ritual, or could I have 
spoken the language, my voice would have 
blended with theirs. In all parts of the great 
building the people sang the praises of God in 
responsive measures. The choral music of that 
morning, the antiphonal singing, the Gregorian 
chants filled my spirit with solemn pathos and 
holy peace, even as their strains filled the great 
arches above my head. It had a world of mean- 
ing to me that the supreme note in this almost 
seraphic music is in praise of our adorable Lord 
and Master, and that the beginning and end 
and meaning of that great Cathedral church 
building is to every enlightened, pious heart 
to proclaim the supreme greatness and glory 
of the cross. 

If in those hours of worship that day in Saint 
Stephen's anything to disturb obtruded itself 
upon me, it was the sad thought that so many 
in that place, and in every large assembly of 
Christian believers, whatever their communion, 
so sadly fail of the true spiritual meaning of 
Christ's kingdom. We are likely to forget 
the topmost and bottommost of all things. 



42 HILLTOP VIEWS 

namely, that soul-building is the climax, and 
that there can be no soul-building without the 
supremacy of love, the center of the cross; for 
love is the fulfilling of the law, human and 
divine, and "God is love." 

Our three adventures in amity plead anew 
for Christ's kingdom of love. 



1 



HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 

ON October 21, 1886, I met at Mar- 
seilles, France, a delightful company of 
tourists from Nashville, Tennessee, who 
were intent upon a month or two of travel in 
Egypt and the Holy Land. The next day I 
hastened to join this company on board of the 
good steamer The Sindh, as she moved out of 
the harbor at Marseilles into the Mediterranean 
Sea for a five days' trip to Alexandria, Egypt. 
As I was about to take ship a little scene tran- 
spired that the many years that have come and 
gone have left still vividly in mind. I had taken 
a carriage to the dock, and noticed that several 
able-bodied men were following the carriage 
though it was driven at a rapid gait. I knew 
this was a common sight especially in southern 
France, for swarms of poor, haK-starved-looking 
men crowded along the streets at the depots 
and steamer landings, in search of work. This 
would make almost anyone miserable, if he 
would allow it. Some of these would often run 
long distances through the streets beside a car- 
riage till they looked as if they would drop 



44 HILLTOP VIEWS 

down from exhaustion, and this in hope of carry- 
ing a grip or valise into a depot or boat. I was 
followed in this way onto the vessel and when 
I handed the poor fellow who had at last carried 
my luggage a few steps twice as much pay as 
he expected, and five times as much as he had 
earned, he almost threw it on the ground in 
disgust that I should have given him so little. 
He moaned piteously and held out the money 
as though I ought to be ashamed to offer such 
a pittance to him. There were two impulses 
which in alternation wrought on my inner 
nature as that man continued to follow me. One 
was to give him the full benefit of my pent-up 
disgust; the other was to give him my pocket- 
book with its contents. At this moment of calm 
reflection I am glad to say that I did neither of 
these things, but, keeping my resolution to be 
a first-class traveler, I simply laughed at the 
comical performance until it was over. 

As I sat on the deck of the steamer the first 
evening out, not only was there something re- 
splendent in the whole scene, but when the disk 
of the sun, which seemed marvelously large and 
of strangely mellow light, touched the surface 
of the green sea, it slipped down into the water 
with a visible motion, as when the moon some- 



HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 45 

times seems to slip quickly into a dark cloud, and 
was out of sight in a moment of time. About 
this time I felt the first ominous twinges of pain 
that sent me to my stateroom, there to remain 
the rest of the voyage. 

To have sickness and hospitals injected into 
my glowing plans for jaunting in Egypt and 
Palestine were as undesired as they were un- 
expected. Four physicians, including the ship's 
doctor (who could not talk English, while I 
could not speak French) gave faithful attention 
and counsel during the rest of the five days of 
the voyage across the Mediterranean. But, 
finding one of them was Dr. R. W. Brigstock, 
the English physician of long standing at 
Beyrout, I asked him to take charge, and he 
did, never remitting his attentions day or night 
until he had brought me in person to the most 
excellent hospital at Alexandria. For a friend in 
need, give me an Englishman! 

Among the compensations for this distressing 
illness are valued friends whom otherwise I 
would never have known: Mr. Cookson, the 
English consul at Cairo, who came to me at all 
hours; Dr. Sidney Davis, of the English army 
and on duty at Cairo; Judge Darringer, of 
the International Courts of Egypt, who called 



46 HILLTOP VIEWS 

frequently on me; and S. C. Ewing, of the 
American Board of Commissioners for Foreign 
Missions. 

This hospital at Alexandria is a blessed prov- 
idence of God to a sick man, "the shadow of a 
great rock in a weary land." Away from the 
tender mercies of his own home, he could 
hardly imagine a safer, sweeter shelter on earth. 
Think of such an institution "away down 
Egyptland"! Peace to the ashes of the saintly 
old Lutheran pastor who, under God, became 
the founder of this chain of Deaconess Hos- 
pitals! Multitudes have risen to call him 
blessed. These sweet-faced, white-capped Lu- 
theran nurses are indeed sisters of mercy. They 
are under no vows, but are trained for their 
mission, and do their work for Christ's sake 
and for suffering humanity. This particular 
institution is located in the suburbs of Alex- 
andria. The building is large and firmly built, 
with broad, clean halls, and rooms and wards 
for various classes of patients, and ample, 
breezy balconies, and large beautiful gardens 
with lovely walks among trees and shrubbery 
and flowerbeds. 

Let me name the usual order of events for 
each day in the hospital here. At daybreak my 



HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 47 

Swiss male nurse (poor fellow, he is soon to be 
married, and to the girl he loves, but he goes 
about as though he were wrapped in deep and 
solemn thought, and looks like a man doomed 
to die. I wished he were not going to be mar- 
ried, for he was so absent-minded. One day he 
put me into a sitz bath, and went out for a 
moment, but forgot me and stayed about an 
hour. You may imagine my state of mind, and 
his too, when at last he came running in as 
though the room were on fire) — well, as I was 
saying, John comes in about daybreak, and puts 
out the night lamp, looks after the ventilation, 
and sees if I am needing anything. An hour 
later he comes again and gives the room a pretty 
thorough sweeping, brushing, and airing. Then 
comes a most welcome visitor. Sister Mary, my 
regular nurse, carrying a tray of food, skillfully 
prepared to tempt a sick man's appetite, con- 
tained in pretty dishes scrupulously clean. She 
cannot speak English, but knows just what to 
do. Washed, combed, I address myself to the 
food, while she slips out and brings me from the 
garden a bouquet of lovely flowers that looks at 
me and talks sweetly to me all the day. While 
I am in my ecstasy over the flowers. Sister 
Barbery, the sister superior, quietly enters to 



48 HILLTOP VIEWS 

bid me good morning, ask me how I am, and say 
a few cheery words, for she speaks good English. 
About nine o'clock I hold a reception; that is, 
I entertain a company, or, rather, that resolute, 
kind-hearted, fine looking Scotchman, Dr. 
McKey, the physician in charge, enters, fol- 
lowed by the sister superior, the dispensary 
clerk. Sister Mary, and John. I give an account 
of myself to the doctor, and the rest of the com- 
pany tell him all they know about my conduct 
for the preceding twenty-four hours. He gives 
directions for the day, and the dispensary sister 
notes them down in her book. The reception 
does not last long, for, after a few moments of 
cheerful chatting, the company file out in the 
order in which they entered. At half-past ten 
Mary brings beef tea; at twelve, dinner; at 
three, tea, or some delicate soup; at six, my 
evening meal; and she always appears at the 
exact time to give the medicine as directed by 
the physician. At any time during the day, 
John comes at the touch of the electric bell to 
take me to the balcony or down into the shady 
walks, as I may be able. At five or six, the 
young physician calls to see if there is needed 
any change in the treatment. Later in the eve- 
ning Sister Barbery comes in for a little visit. 



HOSPITAL ADVENTURES 49 

What pleasant talks we have had! One night 
when it seemed doubtful that I would remain 
till morning, she talked to me of myself, my 
faith in Christ, and my message to friends, and 
then read the precious Word to me. When 
needed a special night watch is given, who sits 
in the room behind a screen and reads or sews, 
ready for any moment of service with skillful 
hands and kind heart. 

Later in this tour I again fell into hospital 
for a week or two at Beirut, in Syria, which is 
north of the Holy Land, where from my window 
I could see the broad expanse of the Mediter- 
ranean, the vessels of almost every nation riding 
at anchor in the harbor, and beyond, the splen- 
did, half -Turk, half -European city lovely to see, 
and the lofty Lebanon range, some of whose 
numerous heights were snow -crowned. 

On crossing into Italy, on returning, I again 
fell into hospital, this time at Naples, where, 
after a notable day on Vesuvius, I found a re- 
treat in the very hospital where, afterward, the 
eminent and precious Maltbie Babcock, D.D., 
found the close of life, perhaps in the very room 
where I spent the hours of my stay. 



A DAY WITH MY BIRDS^ 

I SAY my birds, because they belong to me. 
They are in the invoice of my personal 
possessions at Tanglewood, where they and 
I are to spend the livelong summer. 

These birds of mine are here to serve my 
special pleasure and profit. They are, for in- 
stance, under special orders to sing for me; but 
mainly in sweet, gentle solos at impressive mo- 
ments; their oratorio and concert music they 
produce only earlier in the season. However, 
the solos are fine. Can you imagine anything 
more plaintive and ravishing than the notes of 
the whippoorwill, coming up from a shady 
thicket as evening stillness and darkness deepen, 
or the mournful cooing of the turtledove sitting 
alone in the depths of the wood.^ Nor does the 
cheery solo of the bob-white whistled cautiously 
from his perch on the wheatfield fence quite 
escape a tone of sadness and fear. This charm- 
ing musician seems to be whistling to keep his 
courage up. 

Then I have also assigned to my birds a daily 

1 RepriDted from The Christian Advocate, by permission of the editor. 

50 



A DAY WITH MY BIRDS 51 

roll of entertainment as air performers. Every 
hour they execute feats with splendid grace, 
ease, and absolute safety which make the acts 
of the whole troupe of the expert flying men of 
the world seem like the clumsy efforts of be- 
ginners. Who ever saw a bird drop to disaster 
through "a pocket in the air"? Who ever saw 
a gust of wind upset a bird or crumple its wings 
and send it down to its death? Or who ever saw 
an aeroplane toy with storm clouds in the very 
dignity of its calm strength as does the eagle, 
or hang in midair in the very glee of life as the 
humming-bird poises itself before an object of 
its interest? 

But my birds are not only entrancing singers 
and amazing aviators; they are also fine in- 
structors in the lessons of life. Do not wonder 
then that I was anxious to have my first meeting 
for the season with them. The morning after 
my arrival at Tanglewood I went out to see 
them. They did not know I was coming, so I 
caught them engaged in their ordinary daily 
duties and pleasures. With my eyes and ears 
and thoughts alert I sat down on the grass near 
our shack. Close by to the south was a noble 
primeval forest of many acres. To the east and 
west spread out a panorama of undulating hills, 



52 HILLTOP VIEWS 

running streams, and cultivated farms inter- 
spersed with woodlands beautiful to behold. To 
the northeast was the magnificent Susquehanna, 
rushing among its famed and picturesque 
islands to its confluence with the Chesapeake 
Bay a few miles away. 

The first of my feathery tribe to present 
themselves were a pair of chickadees. They 
were shy and well-behaved, and in their surprise 
at my presence kept at a distance. You know 
they always dress modestly, and in this they 
are not the least like a multitude of young 
ladies — and some old ones too — whom we all 
know who dress in scant, tight-fitting, fright- 
colored toggery, the front, the most conspicuous 
part, wrought out into the dazzle of a crazy 
quilt, and in this attire flash along the public 
streets! 

Then came two robins and sat for my inspec- 
tion in the top of a nearby tree, but soon darted 
away into the woods, where one of them struck 
up a wild, jubilant song just to show me how 
country robins can sing among these hills and 
trees. But this robin song was almost nothing 
compared with the peculiar, gentle sweetness of 
rehearsal that I attended late that evening given 
by a robin in the edge of the woods. I never 



A DAY WITH MY BIRDS 53 

before knew that one bird singer could so 
transcend another of the same species. I 
listened entranced a long time and until it had 
grown dark. Surely that robin is one of the 
vocal stars of these woods. I must hear him 
often. 

Meanwhile from my seat in the grass I had 
heard the loud shrill notes of a crow. They re- 
verberated across the fields from the distant 
trees like some urgent emergency call for help. 
It was not long before I saw Mr. Crow saihng 
in the open with two small birds — a robin and 
a blackbird — in hot, desperate pursuit of him. 
How they annoyed him, as often some big, 
dignified person is worried almost to death by 
little, despicable upstarts! But I noticed that, 
at least, the big black fellow did the proper thing 
of rising above his enemies into the upper realms 
where they did not care to follow him, and how 
serenely he rode on his steady wings in the 
higher skies! 

About that time an enormously large bat 
came dashing along in his headlong, crooked 
flight, just to give me one good look at him, 
and was gone, leaving me wondering if, indeed, 
great bat roosts established in all our mosquito- 
infested districts are to solve the problem of the 



54 HILLTOP VIEWS 

destruction of one of our most deadly disease- 
breeding insects; for, you know, the bat is a 
voracious feeder on mosquitoes. 

I was anxious to know whether or not I had 
any turtledoves in my collection, and so it 
touched me somewhat deeply when I caught 
the plaintive notes of one of these heavenly 
singers coming up from a clump of trees to the 
north. The songs of some birds stir us as do 
martial strains, others charm us with jubilant 
notes, others still hold us spellbound by the 
purity and sweetness of their melodies; but the 
mournful cooing of the turtledove softens the 
heart and subdues its passions and melts it into 
gentleness and submission as does the song of 
no other bird of our woods. 



MY LADY HUMMING-BIRDi 

BUT the greatest joy of the morning came 
of my meeting with my lady humming- 
bird. I speak of "My Lady Humming- 
Bird," since I do not know that I have seen her 
mate. Certainly, I have not seen the pair to- 
gether. If I have seen them separately, I did 
not know it, as the dainty creatm'es look so 
much alike. So then let me say that the tiny 
mother bird was ever so nice and refined in her 
deportment — and what fine manners she had! 
She always came into my presence (and she 
came seven times during the morning) on my 
right and always gave notice of her approach 
by a peculiar hum of her little vibrating wings, 
and I thought I caught a whiff of her fine per- 
fumery; but in this I may have been mistaken. 
She always alighted on a certain dead twig of a 
chestnut tree at a respectable distance — say 
fifteen feet from me — where each time she sat 
a good while for my inspection, and when she 
thought I had feasted my eyes on her long 
enough she gracefully flew away toward the 

1 Reprinted from The Christian Advocate, by permisaion of the editor. 

55 



56 HILLTOP VIEWS 

woods. However, twice in the seven times on 
returning she darted to within four or five feet 
of my face and held herself poised on wing for 
about a minute, as much as to say to me, "Now 
take a good look at me!" or was it a brave 
attempt to drive me away from her nest and 
nestlings somewhere near by? This point I de- 
cided to settle later and I have detained this 
article to tell the result. 

For several days I assiduously cultivated the 
acquaintanceship of my little Lady Humming- 
Bird and deftly sought to get her to reveal to 
me the place of her nest. Our meeting place 
was always the same. At last I found she would 
come to her twig at the call of a low whistle 
that I cultivated. Only twice did she fail to 
come to my signal, and I gave the whistle sev- 
eral times every day. I suppose that on these 
two exceptional occasions she was busy with 
domestic cares. All my devices to get her to go 
toward her nest completely failed. When our 
interviews ended she always flew straight into 
the big woods, as though her nest were there. 
In the meantime I chanced to read in one of 
John Burroughs' books these stimulating words: 
"The woods hold not such another gem as the 
nest of the humming-bird. The finding of one 



MY LADY HUMMING-BIRD 57 

is an event to date from. It is the next best 
thing to finding an eagle's nest. I have met with 
but two, both by chance." These statements by 
an eminent ornithologist set me aflame with 
enthusiasm in my quest for the nest of My Lady 
Humming-Bird — to find by plan and purpose 
that which he had found by chance, and I did 
it. 

At last I was sitting watching for her where 
she did not expect me, when she darted by and 
lit on a small branch of a maple not twenty 
feet away. One glance at a little protuberance 
the size of a small chestnut burr and almost 
indiscernable among the leaves on the branch 
beside her made me spring up as though I had 
been shot and cry, "Eureka!" 

A few minutes later I had a wagon under the 
tree with a stepladder in it and I was at the 
top looking into the smallest nest that birds 
ever build and in it lay two baby birds not 
much larger than bumblebees. 

The study of My Lady Humming-Bird was 
not complete when the reminiscence went to the 
printer. Let me, therefore, say further that I 
was almost sorry when at last the tiny bird was 
outwitted. Her guile availed not in the end. 
Her nest was found most deftly hidden on the 



58 HILLTOP VIEWS 

top of a limb the size of your wrist under an 
overshadowing sprig of leaves. I watched 
the nest with interest until the birdlings had 
gone to repeat the incident of nest and bird life 
for themselves. I learned in their going this 
unique fact, that, unlike the robins and such 
birds, they do not leave the nest until they are 
fully fledged and ready for the battle of life. 
They take no risks of cats or other animals. I 
watched these two mites for hours as they 
stayed at home and attended to their duties 
under the watchful eye of their mother, when 
other kinds of bird youngsters would have been 
off for a trial of their strength and wings, and 
plunging into dangers. How many times they 
stood on the rim of the home nest preening their 
wings, stretching their legs, and shaking out 
their feathers, till the mother bird one day told 
one of them, in some bird language, that the 
test was satisfactory; that they could now go 
safely into the wide, wide world! 

Then it spread its little wings, and without an 
unsteady stroke sped on its way to the top of 
a very large tree, and in very glee of life, as 
fearlessly as would the mother bird. Two days 
later the other birdling completed its tutelage, 
and on safe pinions took wing into the air as 



MY LADY HUMMING-BIRD 59 

though it too were a veteran hummer. As the 
nest was now forsaken, I climbed into the tree, 
sawed off a bit of the limb on which the bird 
had glued her nest, and I now keep the tiny 
structure about an inch in size as a trophy of 
my season with my birds. 



A MIDNIGHT BAPTISM 

IT took more than a century of long marches 
and great fighting by way of victories and 
defeats before the kingdom of John Barley- 
corn could be overthrown and prohibition 
written into the constitutional law of the United 
States. It was during this prolonged struggle, 
and it was in the year 1872, that the people of 
Grand Rapids, Michigan, were in one of the 
many long disputes over the enforcement of 
liquor laws, and the strife was a bitter one. I 
have a vivid reminiscence of one night that year 
when, about midnight, a rap came at my side 
door. Who could it be at such an hour.^ I was 
a little anxious about my personal safety, as I 
was in this struggle, so I held a parley with the 
visitor before opening the door to him, till he 
convinced me that he really wanted me to come 
to his home and baptize his sister, who seemed 
almost crazy to receive that ordinance. Not 
willing, yet, to throw away all precaution, I 
stopped with the man at the home of my family 
physician, and secured his consent to dress and 
go with us to the place where I seemed to be 
60 



A MIDNIGHT BAPTISM 61 

wanted. As we hastened along the quiet street, 
not far from the parsonage, and approached the 
house to which we were going, someone came out 
and broke the stillness of the night, calling in 
an excited voice, "Come on quick with the 
preacher!" As we entered the house, I requested 
the doctor to go upstairs and see if everything 
was all right. He returned and said, "I think 
you better go up and baptize her." So I went 
upstairs, and as I entered the room I found 
the young woman apparently sick abed. The 
moment she saw me, in a frenzy of excitement 
and without a moment of warning she threw 
her arms to my neck and cried, "Oh, baptize 
me! baptize me!" I thought I took the situation 
in, and asked of the friends who stood about to 
procure me a bowl of water, with which I pro- 
ceeded to bathe her head rather lavishly and 
without repeating any ritual. I did this for a 
good while until she became quiet and restful, 
and after a little talk with the friends, left her 
apparently satisfied. 

The next morning I thought I would study 
the case a little further, and so called to see the 
young woman, and found the surroundings 
quite changed. She was downstairs in the 
sitting room, neatly dressed, and talked fluently 



62 HILLTOP VIEWS 

and very intelligently. She told me how she 
had attended revival services in Chicago, and 
at a church whose pastor was an intimate friend 
of mine. When she came home she was anxious 
to be baptized. Referring to the baptism of the 
last night, she explained how she heard all the 
company said and declared that at that time 
the devil went out of her ear. That sudden 
remark threw new light upon the case, so a day 
or two later, taking my wife with me, I called 
again on the lady. This time she was again 
sick abed, but entertained us very intelligently 
and pleasantly, till suddenly she lifted up her 
feet and struck them down violently at a hot- 
water bag in the bed, and exclaimed, "Take 
that devilish thing out." My wife, at this, 
without ceremony lost no time in getting out of 
the house. In the curtain lecture that followed, 
when at home, it was after all amicably agreed 
that Satan had reentered the young lady again 
by the "way of her ear." 



A GUERRILLA TRAGEDY 

IT was the spring of 1864. The Civil War 
for the Union was still abroad in the land. 
Its end was near at hand, but we knew it 
not. Another Chickamauga or a half-won 
Gettysburg would probably have led to the 
doom of the Union. The desperate venture of 
Sherman's army to cut its way through the 
Confederacy to the sea was in progress. Re- 
cruits were greatly needed to take the place of 
Sherman's veterans. President Lincoln had sent 
forth the urgent call. College boys were under 
pressure to respond and were impatient to go. 
They were neglecting their classes and in large 
numbers were enlisting. Among these were 
many students of Northwestern University and 
Garrett Biblical Institute. They went into 
camp at Chicago at Camp Fry. The writer 
went Tsath many others and was elected chaplain 
of the 134th Regiment, Illinois Volunteers, but 
was transferred to the 132d Regiment. Both 
regiments were ordered to Paducah, Kentucky, 
in support of the fort there, being at once face 
to face with war conditions. 

63 



64 HILLTOP VIEWS 

After a few days I was called to the fort 
headquarters. There I met Captain Norton, in 
charge of a squad of sixteen Negroes, and was 
told that two guerrillas had been captured. 
They were to be shot in a few minutes and I 
was to talk with them and attend the execution. 
This was new and trying work for a young 
theological student just from school. It was a 
severe test of my fortitude. The work of guer- 
rillas during the Civil War was not only bloody, 
but it was held to be most dishonorable, for they 
fought at their own wills and without any 
military organization. 

I asked to see these men alone and was per- 
mitted to take them into a room in the fort, 
around which the guard of colored soldiers was 
thrown. I found them willing and anxious to 
talk, and I assured them that they were about 
to die. One of them, a rough-looking country- 
man, about thirty years old, told me he was 
unmarried; lived at Smithland, near by, where 
he had four sisters and his mother; had been in 
the Rebel cavalry; had done no murderous 
deeds except in fair battle; had stolen cattle 
and said he was unfit to die. When I prayed 
with them this man knelt down and wept and 
prayed aloud. The other man was smaller, more 



A GUERRILLA TRAGEDY 65 

excited, and more distressed. He said he lived 
at Henderson across the river, not far from the 
fort, where he had his home with his mother 
and four brothers; was opposed to the govern- 
ment; spoke freely of his life and family and 
asked me to have his body sent to his mother. 
He declared that he had been a wicked man and 
was afraid to die. Both men asked me to go 
with them to the execution. When our con- 
versation had ended, the detachment detailed 
for this bloody work was in waiting to move to 
the nearby shore of the Ohio River. There a 
grave was being dug. At the request of the 
prisoners, who were surrounded by their guard, 
I walked with them. During this walk and at 
the grave they had many things to say. 

One of them asked me to write to his brothers 
and beg them to let liquor alone, as that had 
brought him to his doom, and added: "If any 
rebel ought to die, I ought to." A moment later 
he straightened himself up and said, "I'll die 
like a man." When the grave had been com- 
pleted, just an excavation large enough for the 
two men without even a box, the men asked 
me to make another prayer and the oflficer in 
command permitted it. As the prayer ended I 
shook hands with the men, stepped back a pace 



66 HILLTOP VIEWS 

from them, while their hands were being tied 
behind them and their eyes were bhndfolded. 
As the two men stood beside their one coffinless 
grave, sixteen black men raised their guns, four 
of which were loaded with metal and the rest 
with blank cartridges. Captain Norton, in a 
low tone gave the command, "Fire!" As if 
struck at the same instant both men fell back- 
ward without a struggle; the shovels at once 
covered them over, and the sad and bloody 
tragedy had ended. 

In a day or two a broken-hearted mother came 
to our camp to beg the body of her son. True 
to my promise to him, I went to the command- 
ing general and besought him to grant her re- 
quest, which he did. Securing aid, I had the 
body taken up and loaded into the little cart 
she had brought for it, trying the while to speak 
some word of peace into a heart of unspeakable 
sorrow. 



A WEIRD NIGHT 

DR. J. McKENDREE REILEY, of 
Baltimore, was long and well known as 
an eminent preacher of a generation of 
Methodist heroes now gone. At the time now 
referred to, Dr. Reiley had been invited to have 
charge of the services connected with the dedica- 
tion of a church at Solomon's Island, Maryland, 
in the Chesapeake Bay, about a hundred miles 
south from Baltimore. I, then a young man, 
was to go with him and be his assistant. These 
services were to be held on a camp ground near 
the church, where a camp meeting was in 
progress. The ritual of consecration, of course, 
was to be conducted at the church. We, with 
others going to the camp meeting, took the 
steamer at Baltimore Saturday night, and ar- 
rived at Solomon's Island early the next morn- 
ing. The sight of the small sail vessels, whose 
white sails stood out against the broad expanse 
of the bay and the surrounding land scenery, 
was something fine that splendid morning. We 
landed at the camp ground, where there was no 
large landing pier, by running the steamer near 
67 



68 HILLTOP VIEWS 

the shore and having the passengers try by leap- 
ing to reach the shore. This they did by taking 
advantage of the receding waves, but many 
even of the ladies sprang too late and were 
caught in the water. I was fortunate in making 
the leap, and sent a colored man to wade in and 
carry Doctor Reiley out on his shoulders. This 
reminded Doctor Reiley of Sinbad, the sailor. 
The eminent preacher of the occasion was to 
speak at ten-thirty on the camp ground, but I 
was asked first to conduct the collection and 
take subscription needed for the new church. 
It was full one o'clock before I was able to re- 
port the collection taken. Dinner was already 
waiting in the tents, so a vote of the audience 
was taken to determine whether Doctor Reiley 
should now preach or the dinner be served. 
Dinner was the choice, and the great preacher 
delivered his sermon at three o'clock. This made 
it necessary for me to preach the night sermon. 
I shall never forget that night. As the people 
came into the grove from their boats or from 
their cottages or tents they seemed to talk in 
suppressed voices. The sighing of the wind 
through the trees was strangely plaintive. The 
flames on the firestands in the camp about cast 
a lurid gleam that was ghostly. The auditorium 



A WEIRD NIGHT 69 

tent was made of the sails of the fishing smacks 
and was lit by boat lanterns of various colors, 
showing themselves, but giving almost no light. 
The whole scene had an unearthly and uncanny 
look, at least to the preacher of the evening. 
When the audience had assembled and the 
preacher had delivered ten minutes of his ser- 
mon, the whole audience as if by some sudden, 
mighty impulse, instantly rose from their seats, 
and hastily rushed out of the tent. I stood still 
on the platform, aghast at what was happening, 
till someone shouted at me, "You better get 
out there!" I took heed, and left the tent in 
haste, to learn that the people, used to those 
waters, sensing the coming of a storm by a 
sudden, peculiar dash of wind, had thus fled 
from the large and dangerous tent. 

The coterie of ministers present rushed out of 
the storm to the nearby schoolhouse, where 
sleeping accommodations had been made for 
them by making beds on the school benches. 
Here they threw themselves down and began to 
relate such experiences and tell such stories as 
only a company of Methodist preachers can. 
When the storm was over, the moon came out 
in great beauty. The camp meeting rowdies 
also began to appear. We heard one of them 



70 HILLTOP VIEWS 

loudly declare that he was going to find a bed 
with those preachers upstairs in the schoolhouse, 
and, sure enough, he began to climb the stairs 
that were on the outside. As he came into the 
room and was walking between the beds on the 
desks, one of the preachers, renowned for his 
strength and courage, slipped from his bed, and 
standing in his nightrobes, asked the rough 
what he wanted. He received the reply, "I 
want a bed among these ministers, and I am 
going to have it." The minister answered back, 
"There is no bed for you." The man, seeing 
him standing there, a veritable Peter Cart- 
wright, and knowing his fame for suppressing 
disturbers of meetings in those days, meekly 
said, "Well, if there's no bed for me, I'll have 
to go back." And back the intruder went to 
meet the jeers of his comrades, leaving the 
preachers to their stories and, later, to their 
slumbers and, long years after, to tell of that 
weird night on Chesapeake Bay. 



TOM ODLEY 

MR. THOMAS ODLEY had lived about 
sixty years and I think he always had 
his home in the Httle aristocratic city 
of Alexandria, Virginia. He was a fine-looking 
Virginia gentleman of the old school and could 
boast of the blue blood of the Old Dominion 
flowing in his veins. Twenty-five years before 
the time of which I am to here write, this man 
Odley was the president of the Young Men's 
Christian Association and was held in high 
esteem and affection in Alexandria. But now, 
at the age of sixty, he had come to be "Old Tom 
Odley," the rum-ruined wreck of a glorious man, 
whose little cobbler's shop brings chiefly money 
for the consuming fires of strong drink — a com- 
mon street drunkard for whom no one cares. 

This bit of human driftwood was caught in a 
current of events that was sweeping over the 
community of Alexandria at that time (1879), 
and this was how it came about: 

One afternoon I came home from visiting the 
families of my church at Alexandria greatly de- 
pressed and almost broken-hearted over the 

71 



72 HILLTOP VIEWS 

ravages of strong drink that I found almost 
everywhere in high social circles as well as in 
low hfe, in that city. That afternoon I resolved 
to lift my voice as never before against this dis- 
tressing condition. But what could one man 
do? I first went for counsel and help to the 
president of the Y. M. C. A., but soon learned 
he was noncommittal and fond of his toddy; 
then to the pastors, one of whom was chaplain 
of the United States Senate, whose church was 
liberally supported by liquor dealers, and none 
of the pastors offered help or encouragement; 
finally I went to the officers of my own church, 
who without enthusiasm consented to the use of 
their church for public meetings. 

Such meetings were opened. Gifted speakers 
were brought especially from Washington, D. 
C, seven or eight miles away. Widespread inter- 
est was soon awakened. For weeks the interest 
continued to increase. Old soaks began to re- 
form and put on the red ribbon; moderate 
drinkers gave up all booze; many hundreds took 
the pledge. A club of about six hundred re- 
formed men was organized. Rooms on the street 
were opened for the various activities of the 
club, and many of these activities continued 
years after that first campaign came to an end. 



TOM ODLEY 73 

Pastors who were swept into it continued to 
come back to attend the annual roll call of the 
reformed men of 1879. At the last annual that 
I remember to have attended four hundred men 
reported "All right" in the meeting, some 
sending the message, and the others arising 
and giving their answer personally. 

Now, Tom Odley was only one incident 
among a multitude of similar ones of that re- 
markable movement. Early in the awakening 
he had taken the pledge more than once, and 
when he came again into one of our public meet- 
ings I went to him and asked him to try once 
more; but he declared it was no use to try any 
more; it was impossible for him to let liquor 
alone. Speaking loudly from the floor by his 
side, I asked all the people to pray for this rum- 
enslaved man while he now went forward and 
again took the solemn pledge of total abstinence. 
The Rev. Dr. Boyle, one of the pastors, sprang 
to his feet and led the people in a fervent prayer 
for the man; but he was no match yet for the 
ever-present saloon, for in a day or two Tom 
Odley was drunk again. A charge was then 
mercifully trumped up against him, so that he 
was committed to jail for ten days, and then re- 
committed for ten days more, while watchful 



74 HILLTOP VIEWS 

and helpful attention was given him, to be con- 
tinued when the twenty days had expired. Thus 
his body was prepared for another trial and his 
spirit aroused to hopeful efiFort. Men of the 
Club and of the church put their arms about 
him and safeguarded him from evil till he was 
established. One day I stood in his shop when 
he told me, with tears of joy in his eyes, of his 
great victory. A day or two after this I was 
called hastily to the same little shop to see Tom 
Odley in his last great struggle, for, smitten by 
apoplexy, he lay on the floor of his shop and a 
doctor was trying to preserve the spark of life; 
but the efforts were in vain. 

His reformation had been the wonder of all 
who knew him. His death, funeral, and burial 
produced a profound impression in the com- 
munity. Having no family or home (for years 
he had been disowned by the esteemed family 
connection to which he belonged), and yet being 
widely known, he was borne by the companions 
of his new life to the Red Ribbon apartments 
where he lay in state and was viewed by a 
multitude of people and honored in remarkable 
funeral services, attended by the mayor of the 
city and other leading citizens. Then, declining 
to use a hearse, his comrades who were chosen 



TOM ODLEY 75 

as pall-bearers lifted the casket on their shoul- 
ders, and, followed by a concourse of reformed 
men, wearing red ribbons, bore him through 
the streets to his burial. Wonder not that the 
next day a large number of drinking men came 
to the club headquarters, signed the pledge, and 
put on the red ribbon. 

These reminiscences of these old days at 
Alexandria should include a record of many 
more thrilling events than is the story of Tom 
Odley. For instance, how the comrades of 
tempted men safeguarded them against the 
demon, even with their fists, fighting to keep 
them from getting out to the saloons; how one, 
otherwise a splendid man, eluded his watcher 
and jumped through a window and was picked 
up dead on the pavement below — this in the 
attempt to get to a saloon or a place where drink 
could be had. 

But this reference to the long-continued fight 
against strong drink at Alexandria is only a wee 
bit of the overwhelming proof that shows that 
the eighteenth Amendment has not come by 
some sudden frenzied impulse of the United 
States, but after long marches, hard fighting, 
and the close study of the American people. 



BEDOUIN ROBBERS 

FROM time immemorial the Holy Land 
had been inhabited by a race of robbers 
known as Bedouins. They seem to have 
arisen from the plains and deserts of Arabia, and 
spread especially through Egypt, Syria, and 
Palestine, and have retained their marked racial 
characteristics. They commit their robberies, 
or, we might say, carry on their traffic, mainly 
at night under tribal officers and according to 
Bedouin customs and laws, which they regard 
honorable, right, and businesslike. Hence, in 
such lands as I have mentioned, there is little 
travel away from the towns and villages, and no 
such thing as country living and farming, all 
the stock and farming utensils being carried into 
the villages for safety and protection at night. 
It so happened in 1886-87, I was riding, a 
lone tourist, save with a dragoman named 
Lyons, and a muleteer named Acmud, from 
Beirut to Jerusalem. We had sent Acmud by a 
short cut from Tiberias to Jenin, while Lyons 
and I detoured to Mount Tabor, the most sym- 
metrical mountain in the land, up which we 
76 



BEDOUIN ROBBERS 77 

rode by a fine bridle path built by the monks. 
These monks took great interest in showing us 
the caves and tombs and other reminders of the 
days of the crusades. We had tarried longer 
than we expected, so, after our lunch with the 
monks, Lyons suggested that owing to the late- 
ness of the hour, we should try to go down the 
precipitous sides of Tabor on the north, thus 
saving a good deal of time. For sentimental 
reasons, I had named my horse, Rameses III. 
So rough and steep was the going that it seemed 
impossible for me to keep from slipping or being 
thrown over the head of Rameses III. So I dis- 
mounted and tried to lead his Highness; then I 
ran into the greater danger of having my horse 
stumble upon me, for he seemed to be almost 
over my head. 

Lyons reached the foot of the mountain be- 
fore I did, and, without waiting for me, spurred 
up his horse to a high rate of speed, and began 
the trip across the Plain of Esdraelon toward 
Jenin. Having the better horse, I soon overtook 
him, and scolded him severely for speeding his 
tired horse so. He then turned upon me and 
said : "Mr. Pearce, it is yet two hours to Jenin, 
and it is near nightfall. This is the most danger- 
ous part of the country, and the first time in 



78 HILLTOP VIEWS 

twenty-five years that I have been without 
arms. We have to pass through two or three 
villages. I request that you do not to-night 
speak to me as we ride. No one should know 
that you are a tourist." With that he whipped 
up his horse. By the time we had crossed the 
plain and reached the village of Jezreel it was 
growing dark. We rode in silence through the 
edge of the village, when Lyons by accident 
dropped his brass-mounted whip (which I in- 
tended to buy at any price as a souvenir). He 
jumped from his horse, felt around on the 
ground, and not finding it speedily, remounted. 
That made me feel that Lyons was anxious for 
our safety. He took his heavy long cane from 
the bundle on the saddle and used that to 
punch his horse. He had taken the precaution 
not to put on his overcoat and his turban as 
the cool of the evening came on, as was his 
usual custom, so that, wearing his blouse and 
his red fez cap, he could readily personate a 
soldier of the Turkish government, of whom 
the Bedouins stand in great fear. 

We had now passed a mile or two beyond the 
village of Jezreel, and the gloom of the evening 
was deepening, when we were suddenly halted 
by three men confronting us on foot. They 



BEDOUIN ROBBERS 79 

could easily see us on horseback against the 
moonlit sky. 

The halt was in the Arabic language, to which 
Lyons replied, "Friends come." The men re- 
plied, "There is no friend at night." Thereupon 
Lyons dug his heels into his horse's side, put 
his big cane to his shoulder, as though it were 
a gun, and rushing upon the robbers, cried, "A 
soldier of the government!" The ruse suc- 
ceeded, for the men instantly cried, "Salaam! 
Salaam!" and hurried away. 

As we pressed on our way we soon skirted 
another village, but we were not seen, for which 
we were very glad. However, to our dismay, 
Lyons now lost his way, and was compelled to 
turn back to the village just passed to ask for 
a guide, or at least directions, in the darkness. 
Here again his guile stood him well in hand. 
Something like a village dance seemed to be in 
progress, which at once adjourned to give atten- 
tion to these night prowlers, but no amount of 
argument could induce the villagers to give us 
what we requested. We stood on the outside, 
and the dispute was becoming intense. Fi- 
nally, Lyons lifted his voice to a commanding 
tone, and pointing to me sitting in silence on 
my horse and looking as large and important 



80 HILLTOP VIEWS 

as I could, he exclaimed, "I am taking this 
officer of the government to Jenin, and I have 
got to have a guide." At that, three of the 
villagers at once started off to be our guides. 
Soon Lyons got his bearings again and sent the 
men back. 

Without further incident worthy of note we 
arrived at Jenin. Acmud had hired a little 
stone hut with iron-barred windows. Lyons 
got my supper on a little charcoal brazier; made 
up my bed and tucked me in. He made his own 
pallet on the floor where he lay all night with 
his head against the door, for, as he said the 
next morning, he fully expected that an attempt 
would be made to rob us that night. We were 
afterward assured that Lyons truly represented 
the danger of travel in that part of Palestine. 

The next night I slept in a good bed in the 
Mediterranean Hotel in Jerusalem. 



THE PITY OF IT 

A MORE perfect gentleman I have seldom 
known. His pleasant face, genial man- 
ners, neatness of person, and kindness of 
heart made it pleasant to have him as a business 
associate, while his devotion to his work and his 
tact for it made me hopeful of large results. He 
frankly told me of his past life, and how he had 
been overcome by strong drink, but assured me 
that for a long time he had been free from it, 
and now was forever done with it, and was try- 
ing to lead a Christian life. He meant all he 
said and I believed it was true. I gave him 
employment in our office at the head of the 
advertising department. For weeks all went 
well. He was delighted and so was I. But the 
night of the great fire, February 7, 1904, sent 
him to ruin as certainly as it did our great build- 
ing, for the terrors and excitement of that 
memorable night caused him to lose the master- 
ship of his passion for strong drink, and he went 
upon a debauch. We sought him for days, and 
by and by he appeared. He told me his story, 
was deeply mortified and penitent, promised to 
never again yield to the demon; but he was 

81 



82 HILLTOP VIEWS 

penniless, had squandered his Httle all, wanted 
money for food and lodging. I gave it more 
than once; so did others. I took him home with 
me one night for food and to guard him, but all 
efforts were in vain. Almost every turn on the 
street the saloon invited him, and the fires 
within him burned furiously with every such 
solicitation. His pleading for money that he 
might get bread and shelter was as plaintive as 
it was false. Truth, honor, modesty, and almost 
every begged penny went for drink at the saloon 
till one night he was picked up nearly dead on 
the street and carried to the City Hospital as a 
penniless, friendless, common drunk, there to die. 

Oh, the pity of it! Of what.^ Not simply that 
this one man of such qualities of head and heart 
should thus perish, but that he should have 
been only one sheaf in the enormous harvest of 
misery, poverty, and moral and physical ruin 
that rum was reaping on almost every street. 

The rum power in this land dies hard and 
sullenly, but it dies. I have lived to see it legally 
dead. That seemed to be impossible in my day, 
the battle was so long and desperate and seem- 
ingly hopeless. Society is getting the one good 
look that it needs to break the spell which rum 
has put upon it. 



CAUGHT IN THE ACT 

LET me tell you all about it. I had taken 
the New York Central for some little 
matter of business a few miles out of 
Syracuse. The coach that I had entered was 
well filled with passengers. As the train pulled 
out of the station I glanced at the gentleman 
with whom I was taking my seat and he looked 
at me, but neither of us said anything. To be 
sitting in the same seat with a respectable-look- 
ing man and say nothing to him always seemed 
a little awkward to me, and on this occasion I 
felt it was unsocial and a little embarrassing, 
for the same gentleman had a quizzical look on 
his face. So I began to think up some way of 
starting a good dish of conversation. Just then 
we were passing the salt sheds. That was my 
chance, I thought. I knew somewhat about the 
great salt industry of Syracuse, having lived in 
that city many years. I thought I would open 
with a question about those salt sheds, so I 
asked, "Can you tell me, sir, what those multi- 
tudes of wooden sheds are?" He smiled, as I 
thought afterward, and showed a twinkle in his 

83 



84 HILLTOP VIEWS 

eye. It was evidence that I had made a hit of 
the question — perhaps a favorite theme of his. 
Or, it may be he was an investor in salt. He at 
once said he would be very pleased to tell me 
about the great salt works of the city. He pro- 
ceeded to unfold more erudition about the salt 
business and its history than I ever knew be- 
fore. He fairly grew eloquent. Somehow I be- 
came very uncomfortable as the conversation 
proceeded, and yet I was learning a great deal 
that I should be glad to know. By and by, as 
my new friend began to edge off to other sub- 
jects, his face took on a mischievous look when 
he said, "Do you live anywhere in this part of 
the country.'^" 

"Oh, yes," I said, "I live in Syracuse," and, 
before I could make any apologies for my dense 
ignorance and my pose as a stranger in those 
parts, he exclaimed, "Oh, you needn't play off 
on me. I know you. I knew who you were 
when you sat down here. I have heard you 
preach. I take your paper; I have been in your 
office to-day and paid for your paper." 

Now, whether or not my little game was an 
immense success, or our dish of conversation 
greatly enjoyed by all parties concerned, the 
deponent saith not! 



THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 

AVERY numerous religious body was 
about to assemble in its quadrennial 
session at Los Angeles, California, the 
pride of the Pacific Coast. This body was to 
meet May 1, 1904, and continue all that month, 
which is so generally chosen for conventions and 
great gatherings and is so fine for railroad 
traveling in this country. People, especially of 
the Methodist feather, were now gathering 
from all parts of this land and from almost every 
country to attend this convocation, and espe- 
cially to get the advantage of the reduced rates 
of transportation that thus they might be able 
to visit and gaze upon the primeval resplendence 
of our mighty West. Those who had planned 
to enter this land of nature's amazing wonders 
by the Santa Fe route were, of course, intent 
above all other things on seeing the Grand 
Canon of Arizona. This writer was of that tide 
of folks. 

At Williams, Arizona, our trains were shifted 
from the main line of the Santa Fe to the branch 
called "The Bright Angel Trail" and headed 

85 



86 HILLTOP VIEWS 

directly north for the Grand Canon, sixty -five 
miles away through a wild plateau of mountain- 
ous formations and gorges of turbulent waters. 
At the terminal of this trail we reach the high 
altitude of seven thousand feet above the level 
of the sea, and we now stand on the rim of the 
gigantic breach in the crust of the earth that 
we have come so far to see. The stupendous 
chasm into which one looks extends down into 
the earth along its tortuous way until it has 
reached the amazing depth of 5,000 feet below 
where we stand at the top — a depth so great 
that if one could pile five Eiffel Towers one on 
the other in the great gorge where the river 
plunges, one would have to go down into the 
chasm many feet before he could touch the top 
of the steel mass; and that tower is the loftiest 
structure that human hands have ever built up 
on the earth. The foaming and impetuous 
Colorado River that plunges along its way is, 
here and there, torn into raging torrents by 
jutting rocks, dangerous rapids, high embank- 
ments, and treacherous whirlpools — waters in 
which it would seem that no boat could live 
and yet along which are gentle eddies, quiet 
lakes, and subterranean chambers whose waters 
are at perfect rest. 



THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 87 

Nor is it only a few miles of these enormous 
rock formations that are held within this breach 
in the crust of the earth. Across the chasm from 
rim to rim the distance varies from ten to 
twenty miles while the canon up and down the 
river is not less than two hundred miles. Within 
these limits one has the most astounding, un- 
earthly, and awe-inspiring sight that nature ever 
displayed in the rocks of the earth to the eyes 
of men; and yet it is also the most ineffably 
beautiful revelation of mundane objects upon 
which men ever gazed. 

Here is not simply one resplendent canon, but 
systems of them, labyrinths of wonders, some 
of which are as huge as gigantic towers of 
granite and some as delicate as are the colors 
with which nature tints untold miles of these 
marvelous stones, spacious caverns miles in ex- 
tent, yawning abysses, mountains, volcanoes, 
tall snow-crowned peaks, immense cataracts, 
hanging gardens of stalactites and forests of 
petrified trees; besides objects in semblance 
most beautiful and wonderful to behold and in 
countless number — temples, palaces, cathedrals, 
castles, altars, tombs, domes, and fortifications. 

But what shall we say of the miracle of colors 
in which nature paints all these masterpieces 



88 HILLTOP VIEWS 

of her handiwork? Not more varied, harmoni- 
ous, or gloriously beautiful are ever the clouds 
that float in the skies or the stars that shine in 
the heavens than are the colors that glorify the 
rock formations of the Grand Canon. And one 
overwhelming wonder of this picturesque scene 
is the blending of the colors and the harmony 
of the whole painting. One might think that 
the pihng up of such an aggregation of such 
diverse and stupendous objects in such apparent 
confusion would do violence to all harmony of 
design and destroy all artistic beauty. But not 
so. No old master ever put colors of more 
delicate tone or of finer blending of tints than 
one finds here in this most masterful of all 
nature's paintings. O, the overpowering splen- 
dor, the indescribable loveliness, the compelling 
charm of it all! 

If you raise the question: "How long was 
God in preparing this supreme earthly display 
of his work.f^" human wisdom saith not, and 
science indeed only replies in guesses or in terms 
of multiplied millions of years. As one stands 
here and gazes upon what little part one can see 
of this revelation in stone and tries to compre- 
hend this incomprehensible wonder, it would 
seem that God is giving men in this chasm a 



THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 89 

divine counterpart of the vast dome above us 
where float the clouds in glorious beauty and 
where the heavenly bodies burn in their brilliant 
majesty. 

When I first read some of the ecstatic and 
beautiful words of Ruskin in his Stones of 
Venice, I said, "An art critic gone mad over his 
entrancing subject." But when I had lived to 
walk over the old pavements of Saint Mark's 
Cathedral and looked up at its marvelous, in- 
describable creations in marble, I said: "It is 
enough; Ruskin was sane." So when, the other 
day I read some of the words of Fitz-James 
MacCarthy, the facile journalist, where he wrote 
of the Grand Canon, I should have said, 
"The man is writing bewildering, unbelievable 
things," had I not seen this great chasm of 
Arizona. If you do not accept the credibility 
and enthusiasm of my reminiscence of this 
wonder, I refer you to Fitz-James MacCarthy, 
the man of the world, "the globe-trotter," but 
the man who can see visions when God unfolds 
them to his eyes, who, writing of the Grand 
Canon, says: "This impassive thing that 
frightens you with its appalling immensity, that 
enthralls your imagination by the magic of its 
matchless beauty, that bewilders and mystifies 



90 HILLTOP VIEWS 

your senses by its vague suggestion of fragrance 
and melody in its gorgeous purples, and by the 
vast echoless silences of its Pompeiian reds and 
yellows, is inexorable and unresponsive to your 
puny emotions. That is what fills you with a 
nameless longing, a divine regret. That is what 
makes you sob unconsciously as you gaze o& 
into the abysmal, chromatic splendors of the 
scene." 

Intent upon making my last hours at the 
Grand Canon the most impressive and mem- 
orable of my stay, I arose very early that morn- 
ing, took my breakfast in my pocket with me 
and walked three miles to a point on the rim of 
the chasm where I was assured I would have a 
most satisfactory view. Partaking of my basket 
in a covert of rocks on the rim where all around 
and below me were cliffs, gorges and rocky 
chambers, I drew a little nearer still to the edge 
when there broke upon my gaze one of the most 
resplendent sights I had ever seen — a phantom 
city, extending thousands of feet down the pre- 
cipitous opposite sides of the gorge — the sem- 
blance of a magnificent city built of marbles of 
variegated colors and of countless structural 
forms — towers, monuments, steeples, churches, 
palatial residences, splendid business streets, 



THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 91 

and, as if to complete the phantasm of it all, the 
mists and vapors that rose from the canon below 
and spread among the buildings made it seem 
that the people were building their early morning 
fires whose smoke went curling up as from thou- 
sands of chimneys. I stood there wrapped in 
overwhelming wonder, awe, and praise. The 
strange stillness of those profound depths 
brooded everywhere. Not a sound from the 
rushing river, six thousand feet below the rim, 
reached the ear. No human voice, or song 
of bird, or tread of beast, resounded through 
those corridors of silence. Whatever happens, 
nothing can spoil the sublime symphony that 
sings in my heart when I think of the days that 
I spent amid the unparalleled wonders and 
astounding splendors of the Grand Canon of 
Arizona. 



ALONG THE DANUBE 

THERE are times when even the worst of 
us, and surely when the best of us, will 
have the soul life within us so wrought up 
that the spirituelle, the ethereal, the mystic, the 
beautiful, and the divine, will make us see 
visions that will seem as real as the streams, the 
mountains, the trees, or the skies. 

One of these visions was given me during a 
jaunt of a few weeks that I was having with 
friends in Bulgaria. We had traveled all day in 
our carriages over the uplands of Bulgaria. As 
evening drew on the lofty Balkan range faded 
from view and the sun went down in great 
beauty behind the distant foothills whose sum- 
mit line reached up into and along the sky and 
seemed like the borderline between heaven and 
earth. We were now riding along the low banks 
of the broad Danube. As the fading daylight 
deepened into dusk the clouds upon the hills 
caught from the sun a thousand tints which lit 
the sky with indescribable glory, and were re- 
flected and changed upon the surface of the 
water, so as to make the river seem a great 
92 



ALONG THE DANUBE 93 

luminous pathway, paved in deep and lovely 
hues, the changing lines converging at the foot 
of the hills, whose tops were gilded with ex- 
quisite colorings. I rode for a long time looking 
at this magnificent spectacle. It required no 
great effort of the imagination, in the gloaming 
of that evening, to make the radiant vision upon 
which we looked seem like the pathway to the 
skies by which the redeemed are to ascend, and 
at the end of which stand the sunlit towers of 
the glorious city of our God. 

Do you wonder that enraptured I was up- 
lifted to the third heaven of spiritual things 
(whether in the body I cannot tell : whether out 
of the body I cannot tell).'^ Do you wonder 
that I could catch the spirit of the seraphic 
Bishop Quayle: "I thank thee, O God of the 
out-of-doors, that thou art in the mountains; 
and I am with them and thee. Hear my voice 
mixed with the music of thy waterfalls, and 
think of my prayer as if it were a song to thee 
whom I love to bless for this great mercy of the 
mountain and mountain music and shadow, and 
moonlight and mystery. Thee I love and bless. 
And the stream chanted, *He heareth prayer.' 

"Mountains blue, dreamy, remote, com- 
pounded of earth and air, white as built of sum- 



94 HILLTOP VIEWS 

mer cloud, builded with the massive masonry of 
God, tranquil, masterful, compelling wonder, 
watched by the stars, abundant in waterfalls, 
glorious in strength, battlemented for sunsets, 
crowned with noons, steeped in dawns, the 
expectation of the lowlands, a rest for care, 
heights to which dying eyes lift their last, long- 
ing, homesick look before they front the moun- 
tains of eternity — mountains, pray you, build 
your sublime ranges along the Western land- 
scape of the heart, as that, as we look, sunsets 
shall revel on your snowy crests, and your long 
shadows shall walk from sky to sky, and we shall 
hear at burning noon or quiet evening, or the 
windy morn the calling of the mountains, *Let 
us journey together to the sky.' " 



GONE, BUT NOT LOST 

EVERY old man of heart will sooner or 
later come to experiences so sacred, love 
so tender, joy so seraphic, sorrow so 
heartbreaking, or death so pitiful, that it seems 
almost a profanation to speak of these things in 
words for ears of others. O the pity of it when 
an old man or woman has no inner sanctuary of 
life where he would fain whisper these sanctities 
of his holiest reminiscences ! Yet, there are times 
when it is his duty to kindle in the hearts of 
others kindred experiences. 

A few years ago a fond brother whose life was 
a part of mine was taken away. I thought I 
could not live without him, and wanted to hide 
away and seek communion with his spirit. But 
I remember that he lived so nobly and lovingly 
that multitudes came into his comradeship and 
brotherhood, and so they too have sacred remi- 
niscences of him. Therefore, I am writing here 
what I wrote for others at the time when the 
great sorrow had just fallen upon me. 

"Only the reader of these lines who has stood 
in the solemn gloom of some great bereavement 

95 



96 HILLTOP VIEWS 

can begin to fathom the depth of human grief 
through which the editor of this paper is mov- 
ing. Voices as sweet as the lutes of heaven are 
speaking in this hour of sorrow and O, how 
cheering the hopes kindled by Him who is saying 
to me, as He did to Martha, *Thy brother shall 
rise again.' Without these, how hopeless and 
starless would be the night that has fallen about 
me! Perhaps these voices and hopes should at 
once turn darksome night into unclouded day; 
but they do not. Perhaps my faith is not 
entirely triumphant, for I do not rise above the 
gloom of the thought that long days — maybe 
years — must come and go before the coming of 
the glad morning that shall reunite two lives 
that had long been interwoven as one. 

"Born within two years of each other in the 
same Christian family, set apart by godly 
parents for the same ministry in life, playmates 
together through childhood, walking together in 
uninterrupted loving companionship through 
early manhood, in constant warm and sym- 
pathetic touch with each other during a varied 
ministry of a third of a century, deeming it a 
chief joy to often spend our vacations together, 
happy together in each other's homes and in the 
intimacies of the families that grew up about us, 



GONE, BUT NOT LOST 97 

keyed to each other as even brothers seldom are, 
hoping to spend the closing years of a long life 
near to each other in the quiet retirement of 
pleasant homes — is it any wonder that the sud- 
den vanishing of one into the mystery of death 
leaves the other in unutterable loneliness? Is 
it any marvel that I sit here, though it is Easter 
morning, trying to look through blinding tears 
into the veiled mysteries of the tomb and the 
life beyond? It seems to me that this pen can 
never again take up its work on these pages; but 
I know it must — aye, it must render a diviner ser- 
vice for the chastening of this hour. Nor must 
I for a moment forget that there are others that 
sit to-day in the deep shadows of this sorrow, es- 
pecially another beloved brother who is in the 
ministry, and two sisters; but above all others 
the faithful, noble wife and the devoted children. 
"But I must pay a more formal tribute to the 
memory of the beloved Christian minister whose 
name is at the head of this article, and whose 
face appears on the first page this week. He 
came of the old Kentucky family of Houston on 
his mother's side, and of a sturdy Holland 
Dutch ancestry on his father's side. He was 
born at Springfield, Ohio, and there, amid the 
romantic scenery of Mad River and Buck Creek, 



98 HILLTOP VIEWS 

he first learned to love nature, to which his soul 
was so finely attuned. His health in early life 
was apparently too frail for the application re- 
quired by a full college course, though he 
attended Asbury University; so, with scant 
college training, but with high ideals, untiring 
self-culture, sincere piety, and rare native 
qualities as a preacher and a pastor, he began 
his ministry among the country charges of 
northern Indiana; but before his course was 
ended he had served chief churches in seven 
Conferences — Michigan, Detroit, East Ohio, 
Erie, Pittsburgh, Wyoming, and Philadelphia. 
Poetic, artistic, sympathetic, fervid, eloquent, 
genial, fun-loving, yet devout, what wonder that 
his ministry was one of joy to himseK and the 
people whom he served? He was more than a 
preacher and pastor, for he was a church- 
builder — instance the three great Elm Park 
churches at Scranton, two of which were burned 
during construction and the third of which 
was completed and dedicated — a champion of 
educational institutions, an exponent of great 
reforms, an instructor on the platforms of sum- 
mer assemblies, a church dedicator, and a 
speaker on important occasions. As a single 
evidence of the esteem in which he was held by 



GONE, BUT NOT LOST 99 

his ministerial brethren he was elected to General 
Conference as the leader of the delegation when 
his consent was only reluctantly given and when 
he was a transfer serving his first church in the 
Conference. 

"Somewhat worn down and out of health, a 
year ago he retired from the pastorate of the 
Park Avenue Church, Philadelphia, and sought 
recuperation at his beautiful country seat at 
Cazenovia, New York. Life there gave him 
health and delight; but to escape the rigor of 
the Northern winter he came with his wife to 
Washington, in December last, remaining till 
March, 1905, when they went to Aiken, the 
well-known health resort in South Carolina. 

"But the end of a life beautiful was near at hand. 
After nearly two months of rare enjoyment be- 
neath the sunny skies of the South, he was sud- 
denly taken alarmingly ill, and in a few days, al- 
though all that human skill and love and prayer 
could do was done, there, among the magnolias 
and spice trees and flowers he loved so well, on 
Wednesday of Passion Week, with wife and son 
and daughter and brother bowed in grief at his 
bedside, this blessed servant of God, after beauti- 
ful patience in his sufferings and joyful hope in 
Christ, passed into the life eternal and supernal." 



SENATORIAL FISTICUFFS 

THE reminiscence that I am now to relate 
begins with a social function in the fine 
old city of Baltimore and ends with a 
fisticuff in the United States Senate Chamber at 
Washington, D. C. And this is the way it all 
came about. 

It was February 22, 1902 — therefore, Wash- 
ington's birthday. I had been called to the 
aforesaid social and family affair at Baltimore 
and had performed there my duties with as 
much dignity and grace as could be expected of 
a man of my size, figure, and limited acquire- 
ments. The next day, intent upon diversions, 
seeing the splendors of Washington life, and the 
bout at the Capitol, I proceeded to Washington. 

It was to be a great day in the Senate. The 
strife between distinguished political leaders was 
on. Senator Benjamin R. Tillman was to speak, 
and the galleries were crowded. Not a seat 
seemed to be had. I was anxious to hear, as I 
had done before, this tempestuous South Car- 
olinian. As I stood, with the anxious crowd, 
outside of one of the gallery doors, I could hear 
the sound of Senator Tillman's voice already 
100 



SENATORIAL FISTICUFFS 101 

speaking. That morning, I had shifted my 
Grand Army button from my lapel to my vest 
pocket. This I had done out of respect for the 
family of lovely Southern people with whom I 
was then an invited guest. When I noticed that 
the doorkeeper nearest me wore a G. A. R. but- 
ton, I quickly slipped my button back into my 
lapel and crowded close to this doorkeeper. He 
caught sight of my button and soon I was in 
the gallery, where I saw and heard the Senator 
with perfect ease and comfort. 

As I settled to my good seat I saw that the 
distinguished speaker had pushed well into the 
aisle in front of the Republican Senators and 
was delivering to them this vehement invective: 
"In social life you are delightful gentlemen, but 
politically you are scoundrels and rascals." 
Evidently, he had already stirred this great 
crowd into a ferment. Finally, in charging 
political dishonesty and corruption upon the 
Republicans, he went a step further to declare 
that some of his own party had gone over to the 
enemy. At that, Senator Spooner, of Wisconsin, 
cried, "Name the man!" Tillman promptly re- 
plied, "My own colleague." That was a fire- 
brand that set the tinder aflame. The sensation 
was at once felt through the Senate chamber and 



102 HILLTOP VIEWS 

all the galleries. But the Senator spoke on for 
half an hour. While he was yet speaking. 
Senator McLaurin, of South Carolina, Tillman's 
colleague, who had been at a committee meet- 
ing, came in and took his seat. With that a 
suppressed feeling of danger spread through the 
vast audience. No little shifting about on the 
floor was noticeable. I noted that the president 
of the Senate had called the sergeant at arms 
to his desk and seemed to be consulting him. 

When Senator Tillman finished his speech 
and took his seat, which was in the same row 
with that of his colleague, Senator McLaurin 
calmly arose, addressed the President of the 
Senate, explained that he was attending a com- 
mittee meeting while his colleague was speaking, 
and that notes had been laid on his desk giving 
what his colleague had in his absence said 
about him. He then read from these notes the 
words that Senator Tillman had used, and lift- 
ing his voice, he said: "I pronounce that a 
malicious and outrageous lie." 

I was watching Senator Tillman's face and 
saw it flash in anger and instantly he clinched 
his fists and sprang for McLaurin. The aged 
Senator Teller, who sat in the same row be- 
tween the men, was tumbled over in the rush. 



SENATORIAL FISTICUFFS 103 

McLaurin stood with ready fists and both men 
met in savage blows. For a moment the 
audience seemed spellbound, but before either 
man could strike again the sergeant at arms and 
several senators had seized the men and dragged 
them apart. The building was at once in an up- 
roar. Members from all parts of the chamber 
were yelling, "Mr. President! Mr. President! 
Order! Order!" When semblance of order was 
obtained. Senator McLaurin again arose and 
began to speak composedly, saying, "When I 
was so unceremoniously interrupted," but cries 
of "Order, Order!" stopped him, when Senator 
J. C. Burrows, of Michigan, chairman of the 
Committee on Rules, gained the floor and 
promised an investigation of the fisticuff, the 
first of the kind in the history of the Senate. 

The charge that Tillman had made against 
his colleague was that he (McLaurin) had basely 
taken the patronage of the State from the Re- 
publicans. The aftermath of this encounter was, 
in many ways, most sad. President Roosevelt 
withdrew the invitation he had given Senator 
Tillman to a certain reception, and this so em- 
broiled the political leaders of South Carolina 
that at least one of them lost his life in a per- 
sonal encounter. 



A STORM ON GALILEE 

IT had been one of the dreams of my life 
that some day I might look upon the Sea 
of Galilee, walk along its sacred shores, ride 
over the waters where Jesus so often had gone 
with his lowly disciples, where he had wrought 
many of his wonderful miracles of power and 
love, and where he had taught the world the 
great lessons of God's infinite love to man. No 
other body of water on the earth has been so 
sacred to the life and person of the Saviour as 
has Galilee. The dream of my boyhood Sunday- 
school days was now about to come true. 

It was one December day in 1886 that I and 
my dragoman reached the summit of the moun- 
tain from which I had my first view of the Sea 
of Galilee. How disappointed I was! It looked 
so small. I thought I could ride to its margin 
in fifteen minutes and throw a stone across it. 
Had I not seen in my Michigan twenty larger 
lakes than is this sea.^^ But it took us more than 
an hour to ride down the mountain and reach 
it. When I stood where I could see the whole 
of it, it seemed larger, but I still thought that 
104 



A STORM ON GALILEE 105 

with my good Remington I could bring down a 
deer standing on the opposite shore, where the 
demon-possessed swine "ran down the hill into 
the sea." 

The city of Tiberias, in which I stayed at a 
Latin convent, is mentioned thiice in Scripture. 
It is a dilapidated, poverty-stricken town of six 
or eight thousand inhabitants who live in poverty 
and dirt. Since the destruction of Jerusalem by 
Titus it has been an important Jewish center. 
For a long time there has been a rabbinical 
school there. The Sanhedrin met there from the 
second century onward, and the Jews expect 
that their Messiah will rise out of the Sea of 
Galilee and establish his kingdom in Tiberias. 

Now, the Sea of Galilee is really seven miles 
broad and thirteen long. There was an English 
clergyman staying at the convent with whom I 
planned for a sail on the Sea, and the boat we 
took seemed to be the only boat to be had. We 
took with us eight Arabic rowers and a guide 
who was to provide lunch and tell us everything. 
Our purpose was to visit the ruins which mark 
the supposed site of the ancient Capernaum and 
Bethsaida, and the point where the Jordan 
enters the Sea. These are localities diagonally 
across the north end of the lake from Tiberias. 



106 HILLTOP VIEWS 

I was astonished when told that it would take 
most of the day to go and return, unless the 
wind should be very favorable. 

We had been in our course for nearly two 
hours when we were surprised by a storm that 
came down furiously upon us and threw our 
crew into alarm and dire confusion. Every man 
of them seemed to be all at once giving com- 
mands in the most excited Arabic I ever heard, 
and were wildly gesticulating. The wind was 
instantly billowing the water beyond what 
seemed possible a few minutes before, and the 
rain was coming down in torrents, and yet it 
did not seem to me that the situation was 
dangerous. I had been used to the breakers of 
Lake Michigan, and felt that if the boat should 
ever swamp I could even swim to the shore. 
The scene was grand, and from the first moment 
I thought of the time when Jesus rebuked the 
storm on that very sea. Chancing to look be- 
hind from my seat in the middle of the boat, I 
saw that my reverend friend was joining in the 
jargon and telling the men to do what, with all 
their power, they were trying to do — make for 
the nearest shore. In fifteen or twenty minutes 
the fury of the storm was over. It seemed im- 
possible that such a storm could have been 



A STORM ON GALILEE 107 

abroad so recently. But the men continued to 
pull for the shore. Nothing could induce them 
to resume the trip, so fearful were they of being 
caught in a storm or out at night. So, landing 
and taking our dinner in a cave in the rocks on 
the western shore, we returned to Tiberias 
greatly disappointed that we were not to visit 
the places that seemed so near and are so 
precious in New Testament history. 

It is an interesting fact, at least to me, that 
the place where the storm overtook us, so far as 
we can tell, is the very part of the Sea in which 
the tempest-rocked disciples called upon the 
sleeping Jesus to save them. "Then he arose 
and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there 
was a great calm." 



A POSTWORD— LOVE DREAMS AMONG 
THE EIGHTIES 

YES, there are love dreams among men 
and among them in their eighties, and 
why not? Love is the same divine thing 
in all ages, among all beings, and in all hearts; 
but romantic love, beautiful as it is, is a mun- 
dane affair and must change when human life 
ends and we rise into the eternal and the 
supernal, for God is Love. 

The special case I have in mind dips deeply 
into reminiscence. The two old men of whom I 
write are still living (1922) and are in a green 
old age, as the story unfolded will show. 

Carlton C. Wilbor, D.D., formerly registrar 
of Syracuse University, and long a member of 
the Central New York Conference (Methodist 
Episcopal Church), and the writer became 
conscious of each other's mortal existence about 
fifty years ago, but these dre'ams took definite 
shape, as dreams sometimes do, in 1921. We 
had spent three winters together as chums, for 
we had become retired ministers (although we 
didn't retire worth a cent). This particular 
108 



A POSTWORD 109 

winter was spent in the midst of all the charm 
of life on the coast of Florida at Daytona Beach. 

One morning my chum came into my room 
and explained that he had begun the drawings 
of a cute little house, doing this for pastime and 
also for the pleasure of doing that kind of work. 
Dr. Wilbor, an architect of no little skill and 
note, called the plan his "Dream House," and 
I noted how he became absorbed in his dream. 
Every day or two he reverted to his dream; 
made additions to the plans, thus perfecting his 
work. Soon he began to talk about a lovely 
spot where such a house would be ideal, a 
romantic spot where he lived much of his boy- 
hood days, and where many of his friends still 
remain. When Mrs. Wilbor departed from this 
life she left her husband bereft and sorrowed 
indeed. Their refined and cultivated home was 
soon sold, leaving him homeless save as he had 
a home with his two married sons. But at last 
the Dream House became a reality, as a thing 
of beauty and convenience, and within its pris- 
tine charm he hopes to abide imtil the reunion 
with her whom he has long lost. 

While the dream cottage of my chum was 
slowly taking a visible shape, by a strange and 
unexpected similarity of processes a "Dream 



110 HILLTOP VIEWS 

Book" was materializing before our eyes. When 
I was sent to Clifton Springs Sanitarium, a dis- 
abled and badly afflicted man, I began to write 
"stuff," as printers call it, as about the only way 
to keep awake, which was necessary because of 
my peculiar ailment. None would have thought 
that out of these weary hours there would grow 
this veritable book of ink and type and thought. 



